


long-term issues

by ConvenientAlias



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: Captivity, Dungeon Raoul, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 03:07:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16359539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConvenientAlias/pseuds/ConvenientAlias
Summary: The problems with keeping Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny, prisoner in a glorified basement, were not exactly the ones Erik had expected.





	long-term issues

The problems with keeping Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny, prisoner in a glorified basement, were not exactly the ones Erik had expected. He had expected most difficulties to come from the kidnapping itself, but that had proved quite easy. He’d even been a little grandiose about it—shown up tauntingly at the masquerade ball, lured Raoul away from the crowd and into an abandoned hallway before snatching him. It had been an adrenalin rush but overall not that hard. Raoul was good with a gun or a sword but he hadn’t brought either to the masquerade, whereas Erik had been thoroughly prepared. Similarly, it had been easy enough to send a note to the managers informing them of the Vicomte’s kidnapping and threatening to never return him unless they went through with _Don Juan Triumphant_. And the note had proved very persuasive. In fact, everything at the start of his plan went off quite smoothly.

Most of the problems ensued later. Because Erik had not thoroughly considered what it meant to keep a prisoner long term.

For example, there was the simple issue of food. Erik had his routines concerning food. He stole a small amount of food from the opera kitchens, and occasionally went into town and broke into a bakery or two. He knew exactly what he liked and exactly how much he needed.

Raoul’s presence screwed this up. For one thing, it meant Erik had to steal almost twice as much food, which put him at a much higher risk of getting caught. For another, he was picky.

It was at dinner the third night, when Raoul had run out of his initial line of insults and threats, that he made the first comment about the food. He stared down at the table (small sandwiches, a few meat pies, wine, some extra bread, a little fruit) and huffed. “I should have known you’d be like this.”

“Like what, monsieur?” Erik helped himself to a sandwich.

“Christine told me you basically lived in an underground palace, but I thought that meant… more dignity, less…” Raoul gestured at the food. His hands were free currently, for eating, though they were kept tied at most other times. “…showmanship. You are aware, monsieur, that this is not real food.”

Erik frowned. “It provides sustenance, does it not?”

“No, it does not. A man cannot live on…sweets and hors d’oerves, it’s ridiculous.”

“It’s good enough for the opera comers.”

“One does not go the opera house to eat dinner! The refreshments provided are mostly for flavor and amusement, you don’t… is this really all you eat?”

Erik stood. “Do you really consider it wise to insult your host in this way?”

Raoul flushed. “You consider that to be an insult? Sir, as I have told you for the past three days, you are a disgusting monster with no morality or fellow feeling with other human beings, in every way reprehensible. I’ll not pretend to courtesy.”

Erik sat back down. Just more of the same.

Raoul added, “And your taste in food is completely uncivilized! This kind of food is what a child might consider to be a meal. No variation, either, since we’ve basically had the same meal the past three days—for breakfast, lunch, and dinner…”

Erik stood up again. He walked around to Raoul’s side of the table and took away his plate, with the food still only nibbled. “If the food offends you, you need not eat.”

Raoul looked at him in the way he sometimes did, eyes so steady that you could tell he was putting effort into not letting them blink away. He did not protest, and he sat there only making occasional comments while Erik ate.

 After that, Erik didn’t steal quite as much food. Not that he stopped feeding Raoul—Raoul’s refusal to admit he actually wanted the food only lasted another day and a half. But Raoul still picked at his food, not nearly as hungry as Erik had imagined a man in his twenties would be. Well, it made life a little easier, though it was still annoying.

It wasn’t the only demand Raoul made on Erik’s time. Erik had supposed he could keep Raoul in one of the abandoned cells in the tunnel system, feed him, and otherwise ignore him. But it turned out that if he did that, then at the end of the day he’d find Raoul staring absently at the wall, eyes wild in a way that was frankly worrying. Not that Erik cared about Raoul’s mental state but if, when he finally returned Raoul to Christine, Raoul had gone insane, Christine was not going to be happy.

So he was forced to take Raoul out of the cell and provide him with company and entertainment, which was ridiculous. Erik facetiously called himself Raoul’s host but in fact he did not consider himself as such.

He would usually take Raoul out during the morning or later at night—times when Erik didn’t need to go and observe the rehearsals or evening shows because nothing interesting was going on. He would tie Raoul up and leave him on a couch or at the table and talk to him or let him listen to organ music.

Usually it would be the former; Raoul had no patience with the latter.

And so Erik would end up sitting next to him on the couch, telling him stories of Persia. “How I used to make the sultana smile. I remember…”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“You’ve already told me plenty about the tortures you inflicted on people in Persia. I do not need to hear any more of it.” Raoul was curled up. His ankles were tied together, as were his wrists, but he still managed to fold himself small in a corner of the couch.

“The fact that you are still so rude to me tells me you do, in fact, need to hear more.” Erik reached over and put a hand on Raoul’s head. Raoul had begun to flinch at this lately instead of trying to push him off—he preferred that reaction. “As I was saying, there was a man who had displeased the sultana, talking about her behind her back, stirring up sedition. His name, as I remember it, was Esmail. He was not a very clever man, or else he would not have been caught. Plenty of people talked about the sultana, after all, but he was much too blatant about it. It was probably because of his brother, who had been killed some time before…”

He spun a story of intrigue ending with a slow death, stroking Raoul’s hair all the while. Raoul never relaxed into the touch, which was how it should be.

He liked Raoul afraid. He didn’t even mind Raoul rebellious. Which was a fortunate thing since, even weeks after the kidnapping, Raoul still hadn’t given up on escape. Sometimes, when Erik came back from a day snooping and sneaking, he would find Raoul waiting in his cell with his hands with his hands freed and a look of holy wrath on his face.

Those were good days. Raoul was not as strong as Erik, but he fought with equal conviction. Fought tooth and nail, leaving Erik with quite a few cuts and bruises, until Erik, time and time again, forced him to the ground or pinned him against a wall and held him until he surrendered.

No, Raoul’s escape attempts were not a problem. In Erik’s opinion, they were more amusing than any show the Opera Populaire had produced in years.

* * *

 

A worse problem than any of Raoul’s antics was how certain members of the opera house reacted to his absence, and specifically Erik’s role in said absence. And specifically Christine.

Christine had been angry at Erik since the kidnapping first occurred. And no matter how much he tried to reason with her, she didn’t listen.

“I am only using the man to control the managers and those…others, who have been trying to interfere. They’ll care more about a Vicomte’s wellbeing than any other threat I might make. At any rate, I’m hardly hurting him. As long as everyone cooperates they’ll get him back alive and intact.”

“And his safety will be contingent on that? The cooperation of _Andre and Firmin_? Erik, you…”

“It is high time they learned a lesson. I am done being soft with them.”

“You killed Buquet, and now you are looking for a reason to get rid of Raoul too!”

“I said I would return him, didn’t I? Now be quiet. I am done with the subject.”

“You may be done with it, certainly, but I may not so easily! I must be without him constantly, because of you.”

Erik wanted to tell her that it was not so easily over for him either, and dealing with Raoul’s needs and his odd moods was much harder than simple loneliness. Instead he crossed his arms. “I think doing without the Vicomte will be good for you, Christine. You have allowed him to distract you from your work.”

“You are just jealous,” Christine said. There was an angry flush on her cheeks.

“Am I?”

“You are jealous because he is a good man and you are not, and because I love him and I don’t love you.”

Erik gritted his teeth. “I do not feel any jealousy for a man who is beneath me—and beneath you as well, for that matter. And if I were jealous, it would be better for you to prove I had no reason than to anger me further, wouldn’t it?”

For a long moment they glared at each other. Then Christine uncrossed her arms, took a deep breath, and began working scales. But the tension didn’t dissipate during the entire rehearsal. Instead it merely stayed in the air, thick and noxious. Erik could still taste it in his mouth as he travelled the tunnels back home.

He told Raoul about it over dinner. Raoul was silent.

“They make a great deal of fuss over you. Perks of being a Vicomte, I suppose.”

“You are cruel to her,” Raoul said abruptly.

Erik snorted. “I _made_ her.”

“The only thing you made her is miserable.”

He continued to speak but Erik didn’t really hear him. The fury he had been holding down all day rose up and found a target. He stalked over to Raoul’s side of the table and hit him across the face.

The force of the smack made Raoul fall off his chair. He did catch himself, his hands being free, but with his ankles tied he ended up in an awkward sprawl. Erik pushed the chair out of the way and then kicked him hard in the ribs. He grunted and started to crawl away, but Erik stomped down on one of his hands and then kicked the side of his head. The act didn’t satisfy him somehow—Raoul’s head was lighter than he’d imagined, and the only sound it made was a dull thud—so he did it again, and again.

Raoul was no longer trying to crawl away but he had curled up a little, and his hands were over his face. Erik sneered. Pathetic. Raoul was always like this.

He turned Raoul over to his back and straddled him, forcing his hands away from his face. There was a cut on the side of Raoul’s head, but his face had no blood on it—all the blood was flowing onto the floor. Despite this, it was terrified.

“If you’re going to be so scared, monsieur,” Erik said, “If  you have no strength to fight me, then don’t think you can say whatever you want and do whatever you want. Do you understand me?”

“You’re cruel,” Raoul repeated. Erik punched him, the blow catching him on the side of the cheek. Raoul laughed. Erik wrapped his hands around Raoul’s throat and began to squeeze.

He came back to himself when Raoul had already been silent for some time. He jerked away. Raoul had gone limp. Erik stared until he saw the movement of his chest. But there was no corresponding movement of Raoul’s face. His eyes had closed, and his face was still.

Erik shook his shoulders. After a few tries, Raoul’s eyes blinked open, and he looked up at Erik dazedly. Whatever fear had been on his face was now erased, leaving only confusion. He slowly sat up, and Erik got off him.

“Are you sorry, monsieur?” he asked, when Raoul failed to speak.

Raoul laughed, but it came out like a rasp. “Are you sorry?”

Erik grabbed Raoul’s shirt and heaved him to his feet. He dealt him one final slap, gentler than the first. Raoul grinned stupidly.

“You can go to bed for the night,” Erik said. “I am done dealing with you.”

He brought Raoul to his cell and left him on the floor there, hands tied again. This was another problem of keeping Raoul—his inane foolishness. So hard to have a civil conversation with him when he seemed determined to drive Erik mad.

* * *

 

In the mornings he always went to visit Raoul, even when he headed out soon afterwards, to offer him some breakfast and check that he was all right. This morning, Raoul was not all right.

The head wound, which had looked minor, had bled sluggishly all night long, leaving a read smear on the stone floor. And there were bruises on Raoul’s face and throat, now set in and pronounced. Worse, though, Raoul didn’t react to Erik’s arrival. Even when Erik pulled him to his feet he didn’t look him in the eye. His eyes darted about as they used to when Erik left him alone all the time. The difference was that he also was oddly cold when Erik took off a glove to touch his forehead.

Goddamn. Erik knew better than to leave a head wound unchecked overnight. But last night he’d been in a temper, and besides, he wasn’t used to playing the role of a medic. In the Sultana’s court, anyone Erik injured was likely to be dead soon anyway, so it hardly mattered if their injuries had adverse effects on them—that was the point, after all. But he didn’t want Raoul dead. Raoul was his hostage, and…

Well, it would certainly make Christine mad, for one thing. Erik forced an exasperated sigh. This was the problem with keeping a prisoner that a friend actually cared about.

He brought Raoul out to the parlor and laid him across the couch. Raoul let out a sigh and curled up a little. Erik said, “Are you awake, Raoul?”

Raoul said, “Maman?”

A no, then.

Erik fetched a washcloth and water. He sat down and placed Raoul’s head in his lap, and carefully cleaned the cut, which really was not so big, but had gotten dirty from the floor. It might get an infection—he hoped not. Then he made some herbal tea. Raoul drank a little, though not much. This done, he covered Raoul with a blanket and sat back down, Raoul’s head still in his lap.

He would stay here and monitor Raoul until he seemed to get better. Probably it would not be long. This was not the fever of an illness, just one of pain and maybe a little blood loss. Such things were not serious. He would be fine.

Of course he would be fine.

For a moment he thought he felt Christine behind him. She murmured, “I knew you would hurt him.”

The vision was tantalizingly real. But when Erik looked back, there was no one there. Of course no one was there. Christine didn’t know the way down here. No one did. It was just him and Raoul.

He was safe. But Raoul wasn’t.

His shoulders shook and his mouth distorted. Raoul gazed up and murmured, “Maman, don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying,” Erik muttered. He swiped his eye with the back of his hand. The other eye, guarded by a mask, wept undisturbed.

**Author's Note:**

> I initially wrote this for a prompt but since it's barely anything like the prompt now I'm gonna just let that go. But yeah, more terrible E/R after almost three months of abstinence. I hope you enjoyed.  
> Comments and kudos are much loved :) or come talk to me on tumblr at convenientalias.


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